A Perfect Fit : A Series
by waterbaby134
Summary: Lisbon searches for The One. Established Jane/Lisbon. Now a collection of one shots, all related to Jane and Lisbon's wedding.
1. The Dress

**This story actually comes from an idea I had for my now-deleted Castle crossover story 'Scratched,' which I never got around to writing, but the idea never left my head.**

**I tweaked a few things here and there to make it fit, but I hope you like it. This is about as fluffy as I get.**

**Rated T.**

**Pairing: Who else?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Please enjoy.**

* * *

The dress made soft swishing sounds as she walked across the shop floor. Three full-length mirrors stood on the opposite wall with a raised footstool in front of them, in order to help the customers see themselves from as many angles as possible.

She was holding the dress off the floor with both hands, unused to the hazard of so much extra fabric around her feet when her normal attire consisted of nothing more complicated than suit pants or jeans on the weekend. She'd never been a 'dress' person, so to speak, except for very special occasions.

She stepped onto the footstool and with another gentle swish, let the hem of the dress fall around her. She straightened the bodice, smoothed down the skirt, and then finally lifted her head to see her reflection.

Behind her, she heard little gasps from her three companions as she straightened up, and examined herself, turning left and right to try and get the full effect of it, hoping and praying this would be the last one she tried. She'd never been the type to spend forever deliberating over the purchase of clothing, and they'd been in the store for nearly two hours already.

That being said, she'd never shopped for a wedding dress before.

"What do you think?" She glanced over her shoulder and addressed Grace and Annabeth, both in Texas for the weekend at her request, and the bridal shop owner, a willowy, blonde woman named Phoebe.

"It's beautiful," said Grace, a wistful look passing over her face. "Almost makes me want to get married again. To Wayne, obviously," she hastily added at Lisbon's raised eyebrow. "We could renew our vows or something in a few years. People do that all the time."

"Make it sooner and you two could have a double wedding," chimed in Annabeth, reaching for her cell phone to reply to a text message. "Might even work out cheaper. You could split the cost of everything."

Grace chuckled quietly. "I don't think so," she said. "I think with all your aunt and Jane have been through over the years, they should get this day to themselves."

Annabeth paused in her texting and cast curious eyes to her aunt. "Are you _ever _going to tell me the whole story of how you guys got together?" she asked. "I asked Dad once and he only said it was too long and complicated for him to say."

"Well, your dad was right about that," said Teresa, adjusting her posture slightly so she stood taller in an attempt to look more at home in this fussy white dress. "One day, I'll tell you the whole thing," she promised, "or at least as much of it as I can. There are parts even I still don't understand."

"Like what?" asked Annie, curiouser still, and Teresa sent a pleading glance at Grace for help. Instead, it was the shop owner who intervened, getting out of her chair and coming to her side.

"It looks like it was made for you dear," she said, in her reedy voice. "See how it accentuates this tiny little waist of yours. The hemline will need to come up a little though." She crouched down and experimentally lifted the bottom of the dress to indicate where it would need to be altered. "But take it from me, you'll be a beautiful bride in this one."

"It's not about what we think anyway, boss," said Grace, falling once again into old habits as she still did from time to time. "It's your opinion that counts. What do you think?"

Silence fell, as she scrutinized her reflection in the mirror again. It _was_ a beautiful dress. A little puffier than she'd like but not drastically so. And short as she was, she was never going to find something that wouldn't need altering, so there was no point holding out on that account.

She tried to imagine herself wearing it on her wedding day. Walking down the aisle to see Patrick Jane waiting for her, that big, beautiful smile on his face. And then she saw him freeze, that smile disappear, sorrow in his eyes….

"No," she said, shortly, for the eighth time that afternoon.

A chorus of exasperated sighs greeted this pronouncement, and she glanced up just in time to see Grace and Annabeth exchanging meaningful looks. Phoebe, however, collected herself and smiled at her.

"Never mind," she said airily. "You'll know when it's the right one. Let's get you out of that and into the next one."

Forty-five minutes, and three more rejected dresses later, tempers were beginning to fray. Grace and Annabeth had now taken to conducting whispered conversations that seemed to stop the moment Teresa left the dressing room, and more than once, she'd caught Phoebe rubbing her temple as if praying for patience. Teresa was now feeling like she was ready for a large coffee herself, or failing that, she had the urge to shoot something.

"You know, dear, if you were able to give me some indication of what you were looking for, this process might go a bit easier," said Phoebe, somehow still smiling, but fifteen years of working with a mind reader had taught Teresa a lot about body language and facial expression. She could see past the blonde woman's bright smile and cheeriness to the irritation that was building within.

"I told you," she snapped back, not bothering to hide her own frustration. "I don't know what I'm looking for, and _you_ said that was something we'd be able to find out once I tried on a few."

To her credit, Phoebe kept her temper. "I can only tell you what I think suits you," she said, calmly. "It's your decision in the end." She drew in a deep breath. "Look, why don't I give you ladies a few moments to talk things over," she said. "Anyone for coffee?"

In unison, Grace and Teresa raised their hands, and Phoebe shuffled away, murmuring something under her breath.

"Maybe we should try this again another day," Grace suggested, as with more swishing fabric, Teresa dropped into the chair beside her. "You're starting to get that look you always had at CBI when you were trying to stop yourself from punching Jane in the face."

Teresa chuckled at the memory, and Grace looked relieved. Even Annabeth looked up from her phone again at the sudden release of tension, and asked with avid interest, "Did you ever actually do it?"

"Once or twice," said Teresa, with a smirk. "When he really deserved it. The rest of the time I just yelled."

"Dad says he doesn't understand why you'd want to marry him," said Annabeth, idly. "He thinks you should have stuck with Mark, or whatever his name was."

"Marcus," Teresa corrected firmly, making a mental note to call Tommy at her earliest convenience and blast him for judging her relationship choices when he wasn't exactly a paragon of happy marriage himself. "And like your dad said, he doesn't know the whole story." She rose from the chair. "I'm going to go change. I'm not about to pay for a dress I don't want just because I accidentally spilt coffee on it."

Back in her regular clothes and feeling more like herself than she had all day, Teresa returned to find Phoebe handing round cups of coffee and a glass of iced water for Annabeth. She took her cup with gratitude and took a long swig.

"So," said Phoebe, after a moment. "Any inspiration yet?"

"Nope," she said truthfully, for she was still as confused by the whole process as she had been when they'd first arrived. "Maybe you were right," she said to Grace. "Maybe we should leave it for today. We're no further than we were when we started."

"You're just not in the right headspace," said Phoebe hurriedly, clearly terrified that she'd spent the whole morning with them and might not even get a sale out of it. "You just need to relax. Come on; tell me a bit about your man. What's he like?"

Teresa took another long sip of coffee, playing for time. How was she supposed to explain Jane to a complete stranger? She'd never known a more complex, frustrating man in her whole life, and how could she possibly summarise him in only a few sentences? She'd known him over a decade and was marrying him in three months and even she didn't have him figured out yet.

She started off with the basics. "His name is Patrick," she said. "We met at work."

"A workplace romance," cooed Phoebe. "How lovely."

Teresa exchanged glances with Grace. 'Romance' sure wasn't how she remembered it, at least not until after they'd joined the FBI, and only after he'd finally got his ass into gear after she'd started dating Pike.

'Not exactly," she said instead. "It's actually a very long, very complicated story."

"She won't tell you," piped Annabeth, when Phoebe looked intrigued. "I'm her niece and she hasn't even told _me._"

"Tell me about him, then," said Phoebe, though she seemed a little disappointed.

"Patrick Jane is…." she cast around for words that could best describe her mostly indescribable fiancé, "He is one of a kind."

"How so?" asked Phoebe. She was used to young brides waxing lyrical about their future husbands, each one insisting that her man was beyond all comparison, but this woman was different. She didn't have that starry-eyed look all the other girls had. Instead, she was frowning slightly, taking the question seriously.

"He lost his first wife and child fifteen years ago," said Teresa. "I didn't know him then, but I know it changed him. He's still sad about it, even when he's being a complete pain in the ass, which is a _lot_. He can be very secretive, but I know he shares more with me than he does with anyone else, and he can be an absolute jackass, but sometimes he's needed to be, just to get through everything he's had to face. He's brilliant and he knows it, but somehow manages to be totally insecure at the same time." She looked up to see all three of her companions listening keenly; even Grace had never heard her talk about Jane this way. Suddenly she was embarrassed, prattling on about her feelings like a lovesick teenager, so she quickly wrapped it up on what she hoped was a lighter note. "I love him, but he's damn hard work."

There was silence. Grace was smiling at her over the rim of her coffee cup in a way that made her very uncomfortable. It was the kind of smile she saw from Jane all too often: 'I know something you don't know.'

"What?" she asked.

"I always knew you two were made for each other," said Grace, with satisfaction. "Nobody understands him like you do."

"I wouldn't go that far," Teresa said, but Grace shook her head.

"Anyone else would have given up on him after even just one of the things you just said. I know _I_ wouldn't have been able to handle it. You're the only one who can."

"I had to," said Teresa, uncomfortable with this undeserved praise. "He needed somebody on his side."

Grace shrugged, and said no more.

"He sounds a very complicated soul," said Phoebe with the first genuine smile in nearly an hour. "It seems to me that he's very lucky to have found you, dear. She stood up, and collected their empty cups.

"I've got a few more dresses I think you should see."

It was early evening by the time she arrived back at the small house she shared with Jane, after dropping Grace and Annie back at their hotel. In the end, she hadn't ended up purchasing a dress, although she'd been very tempted by the last one Phoebe had shown her, a slim-fitting, vintage number with just a touch of decorative lace here and there.

She'd spent a long time pondering over that one, but ultimately decided to leave it for the day. She'd left the shop empty-handed, but at least somewhere in those last few dresses she'd figured out what had been bothering her all day. She hadn't mentioned it to the others though; it was something she needed to discuss with Jane.

She got the feeling that Phoebe had understood more than she was letting on though, when she passed on the final dress. A certain something passed through the woman's eyes, and she offered to hold it for her for a week in case she changed her mind. She'd accepted the offer, and given Phoebe a generous tip.

She let herself into the house, listening for Jane. He'd said he was going to spend the day in 'quiet contemplation,' which she knew to be code for 'doing things he didn't want her to know about.' She'd only left the house this morning after making him swear on her life that he wasn't doing anything illegal, though she suspected it was probably something to do with the wedding. God only knew what he might be cooking up with Cho and Rigsby, his joint best men.

It was only going to be a small wedding, with only twenty guests in attendance, including Abbot, Fischer and Wylie, her brothers, and Pete and Sam, but that wouldn't stop Jane from planning something dramatic.

She found him asleep on the couch (of course) in front of the TV, the light from the screen dancing across his face. His nose was scrunched up as if he smelled something bad and she wondered what he was dreaming about. She slipped quietly by him into their bedroom, so as to not wake him. She still thought he didn't get nearly enough sleep.

When she emerged from their ensuite bathroom twenty minutes later, it was to find him lying on the bed, fully dressed (shoes and all) with his arms crossed behind his head.

"Get your feet off the bed!" she snapped, by way of greeting. "I only changed the sheets this morning."

"And hello to you too, sweet, loving fiancée of mine," he replied, in a wounded voice, but complied, kicking his shoes off so they fell to the floor with dull thuds.

"Oh, don't give me the kicked puppy routine, you know it doesn't work on me," she said irritably, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.

"Sure it does," he said smugly. "See, I can tell that you're scowling right now because you think I won't notice that you're trying not to smile. You love the kicked puppy routine, but not quite as much as the smouldering man of mystery routine. I'm pretty sure that's your favourite."

"I don't know what's more pathetic," she said, sitting down on the bed beside him and giving him a quick kiss, "the fact that you consciously adopt different personas or the fact that you give them names."

"Kicked puppy was your idea, not mine," came the gleeful reply. He reached over to put an arm around her shoulders and she shifted over into his side. He smelled like his favourite cologne, hair gel, and…was that _gunpowder_?

"What the hell have you, Cho and Rigsby been doing today?" she asked, suspiciously, ignoring his seemingly innocent expression.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said, planting a quick kiss on her nose. "But not yet. Patience is a virtue, my love. How was the dress shopping?"

"Exhausting."

"Did you find one?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really one for the dresses," she said, remembering her horror when she'd seen herself in the very first one she'd tried. She'd looked like either a toilet brush (Annie's opinion) or a half-baked meringue (her own opinion.) Grace and Phoebe had been slightly more tactful, but they'd also agreed that she could probably do better.

He chuckled, and she could feel the laughter rumbling through his chest. "I told you, don't bother with the dress if you don't want to. I don't care if you turn up exactly the way you look right now, you'll still be beautiful."

"You're such a softie," she scolded, playfully, but nestled a little more into his side. "But seeing as this is the only one of my three engagements that's going to end in an actual marriage, I'd like to do it properly."

His hand began to wander up and down her arm, fingers brushing lightly against her skin, and as always, she felt her body responding to his touch, sending little pleasurable pulses to her brain. Then he pushed her hair aside and started kissing her neck, and she didn't have to be psychic to know what was on his mind. It would be so easy to get lost in the moment, but she still had something to ask him, so she gently pulled away.

His eyes were worried, not offended, and she wondered if he thought she might be about to break their engagement too. She knew he thought about it sometimes, as occasionally he talked in his sleep.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"There's another reason I didn't buy a dress today," she admitted. "And it's selfish, and it's stupid, but I have to know what you think."

"I'm listening."

She reached over and ran a hand through soft, blonde curls, a new habit of hers that she'd picked up just after they'd started dating.

"I tried on a lot of dresses today," she said, "and there were quite a few of them that looked nice but I couldn't bring myself to say yes to any of them, because all I could think about was whether they'd remind you of Angela."

As she'd predicted, he started a little at the mention of his first wife, but he didn't seem angry, or even worse, sad, just confused.

"I know it's stupid," she repeated. "But I got the idea in my head that I might accidentally choose a dress that looked like hers, and I know thinking about her upsets you. I just don't want you to be looking at me and seeing her. Not on our wedding day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wanted to know.

She smiled gently. "Sometimes when you look at me I can tell you're thinking of her," she said, running her fingers through his hair once more, "I know you can't help it, and that you don't mean to, but I can always tell."

He stiffened slightly, but didn't deny it. "How?" he asked instead.

"After a moment you kind of catch yourself doing it, and then look really guilty for a few seconds. It all happens fast, but I know what to look for now."

"You've been paying attention," he said.

"I learned from the best. Look," she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I would never ask you to forget about either of them. The fact that you still love them so much is part of the reason I love _you_. But I want our wedding day to be about us. Just one day that's just ours, without either of our screwed-up pasts getting in the way. Is that OK?"

He was quiet for a time, digesting all this, and she couldn't help wondering if she might have overstepped the line. Maybe she had. Maybe he wasn't truly ready to let go of the past. Sure, he'd taken his wedding ring off, and put a shiny new one on her finger, but it wasn't like he could just turn off his memories, and what kind of a monster was she to ask him to, even temporarily?

"How long have you been feeling like this?" he asked.

"A few weeks after we got engaged."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Then I'm sorry for making you feel this way," he said. "You are _not_ second-best Teresa. You are the best friend I've ever had in my life. And the only thing I'm going to be thinking about on our wedding day is how in hell I ever convinced you to marry me."

"You won't even be thinking about whatever big stunt I know you've got planned?" she asked, teasingly, now she had finally got the awkward part of the conversation over with.

"There's no stunt," he said unconvincingly. "But if there _was, _I'd make sure it was all arranged the night before."

"Of course."

He leaned in for a long kiss, which they broke out of with a smile. "How _did_ I convince you to marry me?" he asked, conversationally. "Was it the restaurant I took you to? The ring? My effortless charm?"

"Same way you convinced me to stay in Texas," she said, with a fond smile. "You just had to ask."

She picked up the vintage gown the next day.

* * *

**In the original version of this, Kate Beckett accompanied Lisbon to the bridal store instead of Annabeth and Van Pelt. I sometimes wonder how that would have turned out, had I actually written it. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Vows

**So I decided to make my story 'A Perfect Fit' into a kind of series. They'll be a collection of one-shots, all to do in some way with the preparations for Jane and Lisbon's wedding.**

**Some will be fluffy, some will be angsty. Many will probably be both.**

**I have no idea how many of these they will do, or how long they will be, or even if people will be interested in this idea but I thought I'd try it anyway.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed A Perfect Fit, in particular glindalovesshoes and Keiko Reine Frost, whose reviews gave me the idea to give this a go.**

**All oneshots are rated T for safety and the pairing is of course Jane and Lisbon.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Patrick Jane had always considered himself to have a way with words. After all, ever since he'd learned to speak, he'd been able to talk himself into (or out of) any situation he'd so desired. He could speak some Spanish, a little German and French, he even knew Latin for God's sake, and his memory palace had an entire wing devoted to the works of the Bard, carefully tucked away in case he needed them.

He could pull long speeches out of nowhere, converse just as easily with a foreign diplomat or college professor as the average person on the street, and had once appeared in a production of Hamlet at a moment's notice (albeit to catch a killer, but it had been kind of fun to perform again.)

Today, however, the dreaded writer's block had set in. He didn't even need to write that much, just a few lines, but they were probably some of the most important lines he'd ever write.

Teresa had gone to bed hours ago. She was exhausted after what was supposed to be a simple drug sting had gone sour, culminating in most of the team pursuing their suspect up and down the busy Austin streets. He'd never been one for the more physical areas of police work, so he stayed by the car and watched as they all tore off after their fleeing drug dealer.

He had smiled to see that familiar dark hair move toward the front of the pack as she steadily outran Fischer, Abbot and even Cho, to finally be the one to tackle their quarry with a sudden pouncing action like a jungle cat, and slam him down into the sidewalk as the other three caught up. She'd stayed there until Cho had managed to get the cuffs on their suspect and dragged him away, whereupon she stood, dusted herself off and caught Jane's eye from across the street.

She was still panting from the chase, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with exertion but pleased with herself too (try though she might to hide it.) He knew this was one of the things she loved most about being a cop; the moment when all the hard work came to fruition and justice came to the bastards who deserved it. Had they not been standing in a public street with all their colleagues present, he may well have kissed her then; she'd looked so beautiful, so exhilarated.

She was aching all over by the time they got home, her body showing its displeasure at its collision with hard concrete, so she'd taken a long hot bath, changed into her sweats and gone straight to bed, pausing only in the kitchen for a glass of water.

"Don't stay up too late," she'd said, when she'd found him at the kitchen table, bent over his blank piece of paper and grumbling softly to himself in frustration. "It's been a long day, you don't need to do this tonight."

He'd caught her by the hand as she'd made to walk away, and tugged her gently back over to stand next to him.

"You were amazing today," he said. "I don't why that still surprises me, after all this time, but it does."

She'd quirked an amused eyebrow at the comment. "I thought nothing surprised the great Patrick Jane," she teased.

"You do," he said softly. "Every day."

She bent to kiss him, a light but loving peck.

"Right back at you," she said, and then extricated her hand from his. "Come to bed soon."

"I'm right behind you," he lied, but three hours on, he had yet to move. The lack of lamplight creeping from under their bedroom door told him she had long since settled down to sleep. Had she waited for him to come to bed, before switching off the light?

Quite possibly. As long as they'd known each other, he'd been keeping her waiting, after all. For answers, for clues to his plans, and for him to finally let go of his past life. Sometimes she'd got impatient, for which he could hardly blame her, but he hadn't really worried until Pike. When Pike had come into the picture (and more importantly, stuck around) he'd eventually realised that it was the final straw. He couldn't afford to postpone it any longer; it had been a simple choice of tell her then, or lose her forever.

They'd been lying in bed together a few months ago, after making love, when she'd told him that she'd almost given up on him that day she was supposed to leave for D.C.

"I'd made a promise to myself," she said, her breath tickling his skin. "The moment I landed in D.C, I wasn't going to think about you anymore."

That had hurt him, and far more than the physical blows he'd received from her over the years.

"Why?" he asked, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Even if we weren't together we would have still been friends, right?"

"Would you have wanted to?"

"Of course." He'd answered her with more conviction than he'd felt. He tried to picture himself visiting her in D.C, making polite conversation, and pretending to be pleased for her and Pike when in truth, the sight of seeing them happy together would have made his stomach churn. How long would he have been able to stand the sight of them together before he couldn't bear it anymore?

"Then of course we would, eventually," she said, "But you've been practically all I've thought about since we met, in one way or another. I thought a little radio silence between us might make it easier to leave you."

He kissed her temple. "I would have chased you all the way to D.C if I had to," he whispered.

"I know," she said. "But I don't know what I would have said when you showed up at my door."

He hadn't slept at all that night, even after she drifted off in his arms, wondering how things would have turned out had he not managed to catch her plane. It sounded like she would have refused to see him had he tracked her down in D.C, and then what would he have done? He didn't want to work at the FBI without her. He certainly didn't want to be stuck in Texas without her. He didn't want to do _anything_ without her.

They'd talked at length about their wedding vows, and decided they wanted to write their own. Both had baulked at using the traditional words, being as they were a very untraditional kind of couple. As Teresa had put it, she didn't mind promising to love and honour Patrick on their wedding day, but it would be a cold day in Hell before she'd vow to obey him.

No man could hear such a thing without feeling slightly emasculated, but he'd expected nothing less of her. She'd always been the tough one, the strong one; the one that had held them both together when the world was falling apart at the seams.

He thought it would be a piece of cake, writing his vows. He could write a list as long as his arm of the things he loved about her, after all. It would be a simple matter of choosing the best ones.

It wasn't until he sat down and started thinking about it that he realized just how numerous they were, from her courage and her tenacity; to the cute way she mumbled things in her sleep. To say them all would take over an hour, and yet none felt insignificant enough to justify being left out.

He stared at that scrap of paper for another half-hour before finally calling it quits and going to bed himself.

* * *

The next day at work, Kim Fischer paused by his couch as she walked by.

"That's a little creepy, you know," she said quietly, following his eyeline to Teresa's desk, a little way away. "The way you watch her like that."

He shook himself out of his thoughts. "Is it?" he said, through a small yawn. "I didn't even realise I was doing it. Anyway, she's used to it." As if on cue, clearly sensing they were talking about her, Teresa turned her head towards him and shot him a little smile, and he winked back at her.

It was true; this habit was a throwback to the CBI days, when he'd become accustomed to glancing up every few hours or so through the glass walls of her office, just to see what she was doing. Back then; with Red John constantly looming up behind them, it had made him feel momentarily better to see that she was safe. Of course he'd refused at the time to acknowledge _why _this was so important to him, but her wellbeing had never been far from his thoughts, even then.

Fischer had watched their exchange with a kind of surprised curiosity, as Teresa's cell-phone rang and she turned back to her desk to answer.

"I guess that's true," she said. "Sometimes I'll see her looking over here at you when you're sleeping too. You two are a strange couple," she commented.

"What makes you say that?"

Fischer took a sip of her coffee. "I don't know, you've been together for three years and it seems like you're still expecting something to come between you. The way you look at each other sometimes, like it might be the last time you ever see each other."

"That was how it used to be in the Red John days," he said. "He knew how important she was to me. The idea of losing her terrified me. I guess old habits die hard. No pun intended." He gave a hollow chuckle.

Fischer looked deeply interested. It wasn't often that Jane, Lisbon or Cho revealed anything about their hunt for California's notorious serial killer, and she had always been curious to know more. Red John was actually a case study at Quantico now, for recruits studying advanced criminology and criminal psychology, but to hear the facts of the case sprouted dispassionately from a bored trainer was quite different to hearing the experiences of those who had lived through it.

"She was all I had back then," he said. "She was the only thing worth living for, except revenge."

He'd thought about ending it all, after Thomas McAllister had drawn his last, strangled breath under his bare hands. He still had the gun in his hand, it would have been so easy, almost poetic, to take his own life and fall down beside his nemesis, ending their journey the same way it started, in blood. He'd even turned the gun toward himself, just for a moment, his hand doing it of its own volition, as though it were some long-decided conclusion that he'd simply forgotten about until that moment.

But then her face had flashed through his mind; distraught and tear-streaked when she realized what he'd done. She'd proved time and again how much his life meant to her, even if he didn't strictly agree.

She'd never forgive him if he took his own life. Worse, he knew she'd never forgive_ herself. _

He couldn't do that to her. He owed her too much.

So he ran away instead. Left her a message to tell her he was OK, and then run for the safety of South America and non-extradition instead of standing up to face the music like he knew he should have done. The ten years he'd known her had made him braver and better, but once a coward, always a coward.

"Some days, I still can't believe she's mine."

Fischer choked a little on her coffee, and he too was surprised to hear the words come from his lips. That was supposed to be a private thought, but a slip of the tongue had him spilling it out to a colleague. And not even the right one. A Freudian slip if there ever was one.

God, Teresa had certainly changed him.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you say something like that before," said Fischer, fighting back a smile. "It's kind of nice. You're normally so private about your feelings, I used to wonder if you even had any at all."

He chuckled at that. "That's a common theory, apparently. Everyone I know has accused me of being a cold, unfeeling bastard at least once during our acquaintance."

"With good reason," said Fischer. She'd read over Jane's personal file on the flight to South America to entice him back to the States. Some of the things he'd reportedly said and did had made _her_ want to slap him and they hadn't even met yet. She'd also noticed Lisbon's signature all over the paperwork, providing excuses, bargaining or pleading for Jane to remain at the CBI. One particular statement, dated early in their partnership had stuck in her mind.

"_Patrick Jane is not an evil man. He is a highly gifted individual, who is severely misguided. It is my opinion that it would be a grave mistake to eject him from the CBI and I am determined that my influence and assistance will alter his behaviour in the future. _

Lisbon had been right, but probably not in the way she'd expected.

When she'd asked Lisbon about it later, she'd been told that file contained only the edited highlights of Jane's various misdeeds, and that he'd had two whole filing cabinets to himself in the archives by the time the CBI was closed.

"Why did you fight for him so hard?" she couldn't help asking, and Teresa had flushed a little before answering.

"Because I knew he was more than his wife and daughter's deaths," she'd answered quietly, as though confessing to some great sin. "And I knew he'd never see that on his own. I was trying to save him from himself." Then she'd dropped her gaze away from Fischer's, seemingly embarrassed. "Don't tell him I said that."

And Fischer never had, though she'd been tempted to during the whole Pike business. But Lisbon had been a good friend of hers by then, and she wanted to keep her confidence.

"I think you undersell yourself," she told Jane now. "There were a lot of disappointed women in this building when you and Lisbon got together."

He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure they got over it, as soon as the next cute rookie arrived."

"Well, _she_ doesn't think you're worthless," said Fischer, inclining her head towards Lisbon again. "She doesn't talk about it much, but it's clear that she adores you."

"I know. We've never been the types to talk about our feelings." Meaningful glances and intimate hugs had always been more their style. Words had always been his tools for his lies and tricks, and he never wanted to give her any cause to doubt how much she meant to him. At least not again. His behaviour on that Malibu beach where he'd ditched her on his way to catch Red John would forever be recorded in his memory of one of the lowest things he had ever done.

"Maybe you should, once in a while," Fischer suggested. "Seems to me you two could have avoided a lot of heartache if you'd just talked to each other more."

"She knows how I feel about her." He'd made sure she knew, on that plane, just in case he never saw her again.

"Sure. But I bet she'd still like to hear it again anyway."

The phrase stirred something in the memory palace. He and Teresa, sitting on opposite sides of a TSA interrogation table. His injured ankle. Her hopeful eyes. Her sweet smile.

"_Say it again." _

And suddenly he knew exactly what to say. Exactly what to write. He leapt up from his couch so suddenly; Fischer let out a shriek of surprise and jumped so violently that coffee spilled on the floor. He pecked her on the cheek to the amusement of several passing agents, and she blushed slightly, which made him grin.

"What was that for?" she demanded to know, and Lisbon glanced over at them again, still on the phone.

"You, dear Kim, have just been my inspiration," he said.

"In what way?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Many," he said, and saw the familiar annoyance appear on her face at his cryptic answer. But he wasn't about to tell her he'd been struggling with his wedding vows, what would that look like?

"I could have you for sexual harassment for that," she said, trying to regain her composure.

"Probably," he agreed. "But you won't."

Leaving her by the couch, he walked over to Teresa's desk and snatched a pen from her hand, and a piece of paper from the pad in front of her.

"Hey!" She covered the receiver with her hand, and glared at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled. "I'm on the phone with the Federal Marshals!"

"I just need to write something quickly, I'll bring the pen straight back, I promise. Oh come on, don't give me that look," for she was narrowing her eyes at him. "Two minutes, I swear."

She eyed him for a minute, clearly torn between wanting to yell at him some more, and getting back to her conversation.

"Fine," she said. "But not a second longer or I'll stick it somewhere you really won't appreciate."

"Thanks," he said, with his best smile. "Love you."

Her eyes widened, and she glanced left and right to see if someone had heard. "What have I told you about bringing our personal life into the office?" she said.

"I'm not," he said. "I just don't think we say that to each other enough these days. Don't you?"

* * *

**I really hope you liked it and as always, I'd like to hear your thoughts or suggestions.**

**P.S To those who reviewed saying I should write a Castle/Mentalist crossover, I actually did! (beware ****shameless self plug****) It's called 'It Takes A Village' and can be found in the crossover section here on FF.**


	3. The Brothers Lisbon

**So this one's quite different to the first two. Less fluff and a lot more angst. I'm actually quite surprised as to how angsty it turned out, and really not sure how I feel about the chapter as a whole. **

**Also, the wedding itself is not specifically the focus, more like the catalyst for the events that unfold.**

**Thanks again to all who read, favourite or review, and another big thank you to glindaloveshoes, who was most helpful to me in the initial stages of this chapter. She is a wonderful author herself, so please read her fics too if you have a moment. You'll be glad you did.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Stan, you can't be serious."

Tommy Lisbon held the receiver between his shoulder and ear, as he cracked open the beer can. Sure, it was a little early in the day to start drinking, but people in his line of work never kept regular hours anyway. And he'd always needed a little Dutch courage whenever he talked to either of his brothers, ever since Teresa left for California and the police academy when he, as the youngest, had left school.

She'd stubbornly held them all together as some poor excuse for a family, after their mother had died and their father lost his senses, but after she'd gone to pursue the bright future she'd been putting off for years, he, Stan and Jimmy had fallen apart.

After all, there was nobody left to keep them all in line. She used to remind them about their homework, berate them for acting out at school, and force them to be civil to one another even when they were baying for one another's blood. After a while, they'd come to see her as a combination of sister and mother figure, and had resented her accordingly but he'd realized over the years how unfair that had been. After all, she'd only been twelve when they'd lost their mother; she'd done the best she could for them. He had forgotten that, sometimes. Judging by Stan's tone so had he.

"Look, it's not that I'm not happy for Teresa, but you know, we've been down this road before…"

Tommy took a swig of his beer to swallow the angry retort that was threatening to burst out, his old irritation with his brother building by the second. He'd always hated Stan the most when he got all self-righteous like this, and if it were possible, he'd actually gotten worse as the time had gone by.

He'd been lording it over all of them for years, at least in his own mind, as the smugly married father of three children, judging all three of his siblings by his own personal standards.

He'd disapproved of Tommy's divorce from Annie's mother, of Jimmy's stubborn devotion to bachelorhood, and Teresa's workaholism. And told them so, in no uncertain terms. But this was a new low, even for him.

"She's our sister," he snarled. "She's getting married, for God's sake. For once in your life get your head out of your ass and think about somebody other than yourself."

Stan let out a long breath. "Take it from me, she'll have broken up with this one too before too long. I'm not about to waste my money on an air ticket to Texas I won't even use. And I'll be ready to accept your apology for your rudeness then. Goodbye."

The dial tone droned before Tommy could get another word in.

"Bastard!" he spat, throwing the phone forcefully at the wall, where it broke in half, and he almost wished his estranged brother were there in the flesh to provide an even better target.

The crash brought Annie running from the other room. She shot him a disapproving look as she clocked the beer can in his hand, and the ruined phone on the floor.

"What did Uncle Stan want?" she asked.

They'd both been floored when Stan had rung up without warning on what had otherwise been an average day. The temptation to slam the phone down on his brother had been almost overwhelming, but Tommy steeled his resolve and was determined to hear him out. It was bad enough that he, Jimmy and Stan couldn't stand to be in the same room together, but it would break their sister's heart if she found out that they still couldn't even hold a civil phone conversation.

Until he'd heard what he'd had to say.

"He wanted to know if we were going to your aunt's wedding," he said, and Annie looked confused.

"Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?" Annie had been thrilled to be included in the wedding party, and had returned from her weekend in Texas with a new dress, new shoes and her head in the clouds. He could only hope she wouldn't get too carried away with all this wedding business and come home one day to tell him she was engaged to that deadbeat boyfriend of hers. She was only nineteen, and a sophomore in college, and there was no way he was ready to be a grandfather yet.

"Because he isn't."

It was a testament to the long-standing feud of the Lisbon brothers, that Annie greeted this information with no surprise.

"That's really low," she said, eyeing him accusingly. "She really wants you all there, you know."

"It's not my fault!" he snapped. "I can't control what they do."

"You could try harder," she suggested, bluntly. "Whatever the hell you all fought about, you all need to get over it. It's been years, and you're all still acting like children. Grow the hell up, Dad."

In that moment, Annabeth looked so much like Teresa that Tommy actually did a double take. From the disapproving stare to the crossed arms, it was like he'd taken a trip back in time to when his sister had given him an earful for skipping school one day. Annie was growing up to be just like her. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

* * *

A burst of raucous laughter jerked Jane rudely from his pleasant sleep on the couch. A group of agents was gathered around Wylie's desk staring at something on the computer. Someone shifted over enough to allow him a brief glimpse of a man on a skateboard crashing dramatically into a garbage bin.

"Really, gentleman?" he asked. "Aren't you all a little old for YouTube videos of skating mishaps?"

"Sorry Jane," said Wylie, hastily closing the screen and shooing the other men away. "I just thought they'd like it. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right," Jane let out a long yawn. "It's time to head home anyway. Where's Teresa?" The light was off at her desk, but they'd come to work together today so she wouldn't have left without him. Unless she was pissed with him about something, but he'd been confined to his couch all day, so it couldn't be that.

"Down in the gym I think," said Wylie, shutting off his lamp too. "Night, Jane."

He'd never had much cause to venture into the FBI gym before now. On the rare occasion he felt like exercise, he preferred the solace of a long run to cramming himself into a room with thirty or forty sweaty FBI agents, but Teresa often went down there for an hour or two in the evenings before she came home. She said it was stupid paying for a membership to another gym when she had free use of the facilities at work, and he knew she enjoyed the social aspect of the experience too; getting to chat to other agents as they worked out, talk cop things, that he, as a civilian, didn't understand.

There were only two others in the gym when he reached it, and he soon spotted her, hair scraped back into a messy ponytail, beating the hell out of a punching bag. She threw a punch that landed with a loud thud, then another, then another, until she was a blur of flying fists, grunts of exertion, and a roundhouse kick or two for good measure.

God, she was strong. He'd been on the receiving end of a few of her punches himself over the years and been sore for days after she'd finished with him, but he didn't often see this side of her anymore. She was angry, frustrated, and, he suspected, trying to hold back tears, so he simply leaned against the wall and watched as she pounded her anger into the bag.

After a few minutes she seemed have sapped all her strength, as she ceased her assault on the bag and took a long gulp of water. She addressed him without turning around.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to feel very sorry for that bag. What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, really. Tough day." He recognized the would-be casual tone, and rolled his eyes.

"Liar."

She sighed, dropped the bottle back into her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. Her arms and shoulders were glistening with beads of sweat, and her face was flushed.

"Why do you always have to do that?" she asked, giving his arm a hard poke. "Would it kill you to take my word on something for once?"

"Something's upsetting you," he said flatly. "Talk to me. And give me that," he added, taking the bag from her shoulder and putting it onto his own instead. She was walking slower than usual, and gingerly, so he figured she must have overexerted herself. The last thing he wanted was for her to do herself an injury; he didn't want her walking down the aisle in a cast.

"I can do it," she protested, making to snatch it back, casting an embarrassed look at the other two agents.

"Humour me," he said. Ever since they'd gotten together she'd had a bit of a thing about not flaunting their relationship at the office, and she'd always been worried about proving herself to her colleagues for as long he'd known her. The habit was proving hard to break.

They bade goodnight to the other two agents, and left the gym together. Jane was still curious about what had brought on this sudden surge of ferocity, but decided not to ask again. She'd tell him when she was ready.

It wasn't until they'd reached the car that she spoke again.

"Stan's not coming to the wedding," she said, in a determinedly flat voice, staring straight ahead.

He'd thought it must be something like that. The only people that could make her this angry were those she loved dearly. Which most of the time meant himself, but he had been on his best behaviour today.

"Really? Did he say why?"

She sighed again. "He says he's got unavoidable work stuff on, but I know the real reason is that he thinks this engagement is going to go the same way as the first two."

"Not on my watch," he said fervently, and she smiled at him. "The only reason you'll stop being my fiancée is when you become my wife."

She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. "Just to be clear, this is the part where I'm supposed to fall into your arms, and kiss you while the music swells and the credits roll, right?"

"Ideally, yes," he said, without the faintest hint of shame. "But given we're still within eyeline of the FBI, I'll accept a hug instead."

She gave him a sharp blow to the stomach instead. "You're an idiot," she said, fondly, and opened the driver's side door.

"Do you want me to talk to your brother?" he asked, as she pulled up at a stoplight. "You know, man-to-man?"

She snorted at the thought of her cautious, God-fearing brother having a single thing in common with her fiancé. Just last week, Jane had stood up in front of a Sunday morning congregation and proudly proclaimed that religion was an insidious institution designed to control the population, and that there was no more truth to it than the legend of Sasquatch. Of course, he'd told her afterwards that he was just trying to get a rise out of their killer, but she knew deep down that his words hadn't been far off the truth, at least in his own view.

"It might help to ease his mind," he went on. "Or failing that, I can put him in a light trance over the phone, plant a suggestion…"

"No," she said flatly. "I only want him there if he wants to be there, not because you hypnotised him into it. Can you even _do_ that over the phone?" she asked, suddenly changing tack. "Don't you need eye contact?"

He shrugged. "Meh. It's worth a try."

"I don't think so," she scoffed, but she appreciated the thought all the same. She knew he'd move mountains for her if she asked him to, or at least charm or trick someone else into doing it on his behalf. She reached for his hand across the console, and entwined it with her own. "I've got the weekend free, I'm going to go see them," she said, firmly. "All of them. This stupid feud has gone on for long enough."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he offered. "I won't interfere, or even talk if you don't want me to."

The light was still red, so she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.

"I'll be OK," she said. "I should have fixed this years ago, but I got a little side tracked." She glanced sideways at him. "Someone else needed me more."

"And still does." He said it so softly that she wasn't sure he had actually intended for her to hear it, but she squeezed his hand all the same as the light turned green.

* * *

Tommy met her at the arrivals gate, and greeted her with a slightly awkward hug. His sister looked well. She'd lost weight since he'd last seen her, and had grown her hair out a little (at least he thought so.) Most of all, she seemed content. Happy even. When they'd worked that case together at the CBI, she'd seemed constantly stressed-out, as though something were looming up behind her. He'd asked her about it one night after Annie had gone to bed, but she'd brushed him off.

He remembered thinking then how protective she'd been of Jane. How she'd deflected his questions about him with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. The way she seemed to unconsciously put herself between him and possible harm. At the time, Tommy hadn't quite known what to make of it. She had a crush on him, that was clear enough, but it seemed to be more than that. Something darker.

It wasn't until years later, when the news about Red John's death came out, that things finally started to add up, but even now, there were still big gaps in the whole story that she didn't seem inclined to fill.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Reese?" he asked. "You know Stan, he's got the biggest stick up his ass I've ever known. I hate to say it, but he's probably not going to change his mind."

She gave a tiny huff of laughter. "I can handle stubborn men," she said. "I'm marrying one who willingly kept himself in federal detention for months just to prove a point."

Tommy held back his other concerns as they reached the terminal exit, and Annie flew delightedly into her aunt's arms. Teresa hadn't seen Stan since he was still a teenager. He'd changed a lot since then. He'd always been pious and condescending, but he'd always reined that in around Reese. Now, without her influence and the space of over twenty years to affirm his own attitude, he was not the same person she had left behind.

It had been a long time since she'd been back in Chicago. She remembered her teenage years, caring for three younger brothers, while secretly wishing to be anywhere else. But she'd always loved this place; the pizza shop a few blocks away from their old family home, which served the best deep-dish pizza she'd ever had. The Californian stuff just couldn't compare.

Jimmy and Stan had both been surprised to hear she was in town for the weekend, and it had taken some negotiation to fix on a time they could all meet. Her brothers still couldn't stand to be in the same room as one another, and she knew that it was only a lingering sense of duty to her that had made Jimmy agree to the arrangement. Stan had been harder to convince, plying her with excuse after excuse about church group meetings, playdates for the kids and work projects, but fortunately, on the third attempt at calling him, his wife Sarah had picked up the phone. Teresa had the feeling Sarah had pulled rank on Stan when he grudgingly agreed to meet them here for dinner, and made a mental note to thank her when she could.

The bell above the door tinkled, and she caught her breath as Jimmy and Stan walked in. They were both so much taller than she remembered, so much more mature. She'd still been picturing them as teenagers in her head, but here they both were, the men she had raised them to be.

Jimmy and Stan greeted each other with a stiff handshake and then took turns to kiss her on the cheek. Tommy, they barely acknowledged in any way, other than Jimmy's careless incline of the head as they all sat down. Teresa watched this unfold with a frown on her face.

"Why are we here, Teresa?" demanded Stan. "You flew all the way from Texas, it must be important."

It felt like old times again, the four of them gathered around the table, for she'd insisted they try and eat together at least twice a week, to at least pretend they were still a family, for her own peace of mind. As the years had passed, those dinners had gotten more and more infrequent, until it was nothing short of a miracle to get them all in the same place at once. The last had been the night before she left for California. Well over twenty years ago, she realized with a jolt.

"I want you at my wedding," she said, simply. "All three of you. And I don't give a damn what issues you've got with one another, you're my family and I want you there."

She looked directly at Stan, who put down the menu he'd been studying and looked calmly back at her.

"I've already told you, Teresa, I'm not available that day," he said flatly. "Now, if that's all you came to say…" he began to rise from his chair, but paused when he registered Jimmy shaking his head, and Tommy's murderous stare. "What?" he snapped harshly at his two brothers.

"You're a bastard, Stan," Tommy spat, angrily. "You can't even pull it together for one wedding."

"Maybe I could if I was able to believe that this time there might actually_ be_ a wedding, and not just another broken engagement." Teresa knew that Stan's jab had been primarily aimed at Tommy, but the full force of it hit her like a whiplash. She hated to think that her baby brother could think of her this way. What had she done to make him hate her so much? Yes, they'd fallen out of touch over the years, but she'd always thought he'd wanted it that way. At least, he'd never attempted to rekindle their relationship.

"The other two weren't right," she admitted, quietly. "But this is it, Stan. He's the one I want to be with."

"That's what you said about Greg Tayback," he said. "And the other one didn't even last long enough for me to bother remembering_ his_ name."

Not for nothing, had Teresa spent the majority of her working life receiving similar attacks from witnesses or victim's family members, or sometimes even Patrick when in the throes of a Red John hunt, and so she let no hint of hurt cross her face, and stood her ground.

"I don't have to justify myself to you, Stan," she said, coolly. "All you need to know is that he loves me, and he makes me happy…most of the time," she added as an afterthought, and Tommy smirked.

"Annie said she overheard you on the phone with him this morning. She said you sounded like you wanted to kill him," he said.

"Sometimes I do." She'd certainly threatened to do so many times over the years, and hardly without reason.

"Well, I'm happy for you, Reese," Jimmy said. "And you can bet that I'll be there."

"And me," said Tommy, vehemently. For the first time in years, he looked Jimmy in the eye and felt something like solidarity. They actually _agreed_ on something. It was a small victory, to be sure, but a victory nonetheless.

The pizza arrived and not much more was said while they ate. The Lisbon boys had never been much for conversation when food was on offer. Teresa was glad at least some things hadn't changed.

Only when the pizza was gone, and a waitress had topped off their drinks, did she attempt to get the conversation back to what she had come for.

"Stan?" she said, and her brother reluctantly met her eyes. "I know I can't force you to come, but you need to understand that if you don't, I won't be reaching out to you again. I don't have time to waste trying to piece our family back together if you don't want to."

Stan's mouth set into a firm line, and his eyes darkened.

"That's rich, coming from you, Teresa," he snarled. "You were the one that walked out on us."

An icy silence fell over the table.

"What?" she managed to whisper.

"The second Tommy was out of high school you took off for California without looking back," said Stan. "You always paid out on Dad for abandoning us, when you did the exact same thing."

The comparison to her father sent a powerful surge of anger through her body, and she pushed her chair back and stood up, so she was towering over her brothers.

"Is that what you think?" she demanded of Stan, mingled fury and hurt making her need to work hard to control the tone of her voice. "Have you forgotten who raised you, Stan?"

"Reese…" Tommy put a gentle hand on her arm, and she noticed for the first time that she was drawing the curious eyes of several patrons. This was a first. Normally it was Jane making the scene, and herself trying to rein him back in, but she had always been the calming force in their relationship. Right now, she wasn't a cop or a friend; she was a sister, with a brother that resented her for trying to do the right thing.

"What was I supposed to do?" she asked, taking her seat once again, and forcing herself to stay calm. "Stay in Chicago forever? Never live my own life?"

"It was like you'd just given up," he said. "When you left. You'd been taking care of us for years, and then suddenly you were gone. It was just like losing Mom all over again."

* * *

Teresa booked an early flight back to Texas the next day, and spent most of it pondering over her brother's words. _Had_ she given up on them? She'd always viewed her move to California as a fresh start for her, but to Stan it had simply been another parental figure in his life disappearing.

She didn't regret moving away, even though it had brought her misery and heartache and Red John, but the idea that she caused pain to her brothers without even realising it sent a cold feeling down her spine.

She'd left the pizza place with Tommy, telling the other two that the wedding invitation still stood. Jimmy had given her a hug goodbye, but Stan had refused to even look at her. She wasn't sure he'd ever forgive her.

The plane landed and she wended her way through the terminal, through throngs of chattering tourists with smiles on their faces, without a care in the world. She hadn't exactly given much thought to how she'd get back home from the airport, for she hadn't even called Patrick to tell him she was coming home. He would be bound to ask questions that she didn't feel ready to answer yet and she hadn't even got her thoughts straight in her own mind.

Resigned to a very expensive cab ride home, she looked around the bustling terminal for an information desk. She managed to spot it among the teeming crowds and began pushing her way towards it, before pulling up short a few feet away.

Leaning against it was a very familiar figure, in a three-piece suit and those awful shoes she hated. She heard a woman beside her let out a shrill giggle, clearly misinterpreting his smile when he noticed Teresa, but her own relief at seeing him surprised even her.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, without preamble.

"Psychic, remember?" he joked, with a little laugh, but turned serious at her raised eyebrow. "Tommy called me and told me what happened. I'm so sorry, Teresa."

"What for?" She attempted a light, careless tone. "For once, it actually wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either," he said, gently. "He had no right to say those things to you. You are the most generous, selfless person I've ever known, and your brother will see that one day. I'm sure of it."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" she asked.

"Come here." He stepped forward, and pulled her into his arms. "For what it's worth," he said. "I know you never gave up on me. Even when I gave you every reason to. I'll always be grateful for that."

They were still in a crowded airport terminal, the babble of noise surrounding them almost drowning out his whispered words, and she really did hate public displays of affection.

But today, only today, she would make an exception.

* * *

**This may be the last update for a couple of weeks as I have big assignments and final exams to deal with for uni, but rest assured this story will be back, and the next chapter a happier one.**

**Thanks for reading as always!**


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